


After the Storm

by three_things_sid



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Community: got_exchange, F/M, Female Protagonist, First Time, Future Fic, Gen, Healing, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:29:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/three_things_sid/pseuds/three_things_sid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which not everyone dies and Jon and Sansa come to an understanding of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> AU that takes place after ADWD, but took off during ASOS. Written for the fourth round at got_exchange on LJ. 
> 
> For the prompt: Jon/Sansa | _Perhaps they have to get married because Jon needs to marry to provide an heir to the Targaryen line or he just thinks it's the only way to protect Sansa. Genuine feeling between them but confusion over the shift in their relationship._
> 
> I'm [on tumblr](http://three-things-sid.tumblr.com/) now, in case you want to say hi.

The letter, like the ones that came before it, is most courteous. Full of sweet compliments and lovely promises, but Sansa thinks she has had enough of those to last a lifetime. She puts it next to the others, that are already lying on her desk. Neatly lined up, dark red next to deep green, next to light blue, next to warm yellow parchment.

She knows this cannot go on for much longer, that she should feel honoured, or at the very least flattered, and she would have not too long ago, but now all she feels at the sight of all these offers and proposals is dread.

It's not that the idea of a new marriage repulses her as a whole. She'd still like to have a family of her own someday. (Robb is her family, of course, but he has a wife and soon a child of his own, and Winterfell still feels to quite.) If only to stop people from whispering and pitying her whenever they see her. _Look at the King's sister, it's such a pity what these Southeners did to her. She used to be such a sweet girl, the poor thing seems like a shadow of herself._ It would be nice to show them she is not some damaged little doll, but the thought of leaving Winterfell again is something she cannot stand. It makes her stomach clench and twist, and her breathing unsteady.

They made Robb king which means he can come and go as he pleases, and even Jon, who is the heir to an even bigger kingdom now, is allowed to stay as her brother's hand, as long as Queen Danearys has no need of him and his heirs are hers.  
It's only her who has no real place anymore.

She is not sure what she expected. When she was a girl she knew that one day Robb would inherit Winterfell, raise his children there, and that she would leave to marry a high lord or a noble knight and rule his castle. It had seemed wicked and exiting then, but when she had learned that there are no true knights she had stopped dreaming about that.  
Somewhere along the way, after Joffrey, and burying the hopes of becoming the Lady of Highgarden, and being Tyrion Lannister's bride she had stopped wishing for a husband and instead wished for home.

It's strange to see Queen Jeyne taking her mother's place, to see her sitting in her mother's seat at the high table, to know she is sleeping in her chambers. Like she cannot fathom the other girl belongs here, in a way Sansa does not anymore. Her brother's bannermen may not love her as much as they would have a Northern girl, but they are warming up to her. And why not? Jeyne is an inexperienced queen, but not a bad one. She is sweet, honest and open, in a way Sansa does not know how to anymore.

So far, Sansa has not answered any of her suitors, and the Dragon Queen's words are still kind, but Sansa doesn't miss the underlining seriousness of her message: _Just chose one already_.

She is not completely sure why her prospective marriage is of such interest to the Southron Queen. She knows that Danearys wants to strengthen the relationship between the South and the North, and is, thanks to Jon, not interested in any more bloodshed, but that does not explain why Sansa is the one who has to marry some Southern lord. Her brother may be king, but Queen Jeyne, whose stomach started swelling not even three moons after the fighting was done, will bear her brother an heir before the year is over, so Sansa won't have a claim to anything anymore very soon.

If anything, Danearys should be more concerned about Jon's lack of wife or heir. She wonders if her half-brother, _no, her cousin_ , she corrects herself, _he was never your brother to begin with, half or otherwise_ , gets urgent letters too. From highborn ladies, or their fathers, or from the Dragon Queen herself, urging him to pick a fertile little wife. If he does, no one has mentioned it to her.

She can't help but feel like even though they won, or at least did not lose, she is the one not getting what she fought for. And then she thinks herself foolish, because she could be dead, like her parents, or missing like Arya, Bran and sweet little Rickon.

Sansa lets out a deep breath, tries to focus on anything but the letters, dwelling on these things won't make them any better.

There is a soft knock that interrupts her thoughts then, and when she turns towards it she notices Robb, leaning against the frame of her open door. He is clearly waiting for her to acknowledge him before he enters her room, careful, not to scare or startle her.

Grey Wind on the other hand does not seem to share his master's reservations, and pads right in. His yellow eyes find Sansa's blue ones for a moment, before he plops down in front of the fireplace and rests his head on his forepaws, like he plans on staying for a while.

Robb signs, watches him for a moment, then returns his attention to her. "Do you have a moment, sister? There is something I'd like to discuss." She nods, they both know that she has nothing but time on her hands, and he finally enters.

He sits down in the chair across from hers, and gestures to the letters still lying on the table between them. "Maester Samwell said there was another one."

She nods again, slides the dark red letter towards him, before she answers. "From the Queen herself this time."

Robb studies the parchment for a moment, and his voice is hard to read when he speaks again. "Do you consider honouring one of them?"

 _No_ , is what she thinks. "Their offers are most gracious," is what she says.

He smiles at her proper response, but it's a sad one, like he knows that her words are all she has. He hasn't pushed her to choose a husband so far, has not even suggested one, but she is not sure how long his patience on the matter will last. The brother she grew up with would never marry her off against her will, but the war changed them all. She has learned that there is a difference between Robb her brother and Robb her king, and she is not always sure who is in charge.

 _Half of these men, half of these families, just stood by or laughed while Joffrey had me beaten bloody, and the other half called you a traitor and tried to kill you not too long ago, and now they are asking for my hand in marriage as if nothing happened_ , is what she'd like to tell him. "I don't want to leave again." Is all that comes out in the end.

"I understand."

She doesn't think he does, not _really_ , but she nods anyway. "But, if I refuse them all the Dragon Queen won't be pleased, will she? She might take it as an insult."

"The North is an independent country," Robb says, but the words sound stale and rehearsed. "Our decisions are still our own." They both know that it's not that simple though. The peace is still new and fragile, and the only thing that keeps them safe is the arrival of winter and Jon's newly discovered parentage. "Anyway, there might be a way to avoid offending her," Robb continues.

"There might?" She shifts in her seat, is not sure where he is going with this.

"Yes," he is choosing his words carefully now, which only makes her more nervous. "There is someone else you could marry. Someone of whom the Queen approves off, who has Southern roots and a claim that would be worthy of your status. Someone kind and smart, who would treat you well. Who happens to already live here, and should be looking for a suitable wife."

Sansa just looks at him for a moment, unable to process his words. He cannot mean what she thinks he means. "Are you serious?" She finally asks, the disbelieve clear in her voice. "Jon would never agree to that!"

"It was his idea." Robb looks amused now, almost smug.

"But, why would he want that? He probably hates me," she begins, " I- I was horrible to him-"

"That's not true," Robb interrupts her, suddenly serious again. "At least the first part," he adds after he sees the doubtful look on her face. "Jon does not hate you. And, you may have not been very kind to him, but you were nothing but a child then."

"I still don't think it makes any sense." Why would Jon want to wed the girl that he grew up thinking was his sister, who had not even been that nice to him, when he could have any girl in the North or the Six Kingdoms?

"Just think about it, all right?" Robb tells her as he gets to his feet. 

"I promise." She doubts she'll be able to think about anything else.

 

 

After a sleepless night, she concludes that the only way to make sense of this is to talk to Jon himself. The whole thing seems nothing short of ridiculous, if she's honest. Maybe Robb got it wrong, Jon cannot have voiced any desire to wed her. Maybe he was jesting when Robb thought he wasn't. Jon was never one to jest much though, and, as far as she can tell, his time away hasn't exactly improved his sullen moods. But maybe that's why Robb couldn't tell he was doing it, she reasons.

She has not spent much time with Jon outside shared meals, and certainly none without Robb or Jeyne present, so she is not sure where to find him. Winterfell has not been restored completely yet, but it looks more like her childhood home again and less like the dead ruin that greeted her on her return.  
Both the Keep and the Great Hall have been restored, but Jon is not in either of them. He is not with Robb, who is busy listening to grievances, or in the Armoury. She even checks the Glass Garden, or what is left of it, because she knows overseeing its repair is one of his duties.

It's only when she stumbles on Sam, the new Maester, who followed Jon from the Wall to replace poor old Maester Luwin, in the new library that he tells her, or her shoes since the young man still seems too nervous to look her in the eyes, that Jon spends a lot of his time in the Godswood.

While she favours the Godswood in Winterfell over the desolated one in Kings Landing, it is still not among her favourite places. But she cannot help, but feel nostalgic as she passes the hot springs, remembers learning how to swim and more than one splashing match with Arya. (Before she had gotten too old for such childish things of course.)

As a child she had preferred her mother's gods, with their beautiful songs and thrilling stories, while the sullen, bleeding faces her father prayed to had frightened her. Now she knows that it is not necessarily the dead or grotesque one has to fear, but still, neither the Old Gods nor the Seven seem to be able to give her as much comfort as they do Robb or Jon. Maybe it is because those two never had to rely solely prayers and the mercy of others. Perhaps, if you have to determine your own fate constantly, it is a relief to put it in someone else's hands from time to time. She would not know.

Her boots are wet from the snow, the leather soaked through, when she finally spots Jon. Kneeling in front of the heart tree, his head bent, he looks so much like her father that it takes her breath away for a second. The big white wolf by his side is the only notable difference that gives him away.

Suddenly she is hesitant to interrupt him, Ghost has noticed her, but Jon gives no indication that he is aware of her presence.

She is so busy thinking about what to say that she doesn't even notice Jon getting up and crossing the small distance between them. He suddenly stands in front of her, confusion, and maybe even worry, evident on his face. "Is something wrong, Sansa? What are you doing out here?"

She thinks she must look quite out of place, in nothing but her woollen dress, without a cloak or hood to shield her from the cold and slowly falling snow. She hadn't thought of returning to her chambers, and changing into warmer, more appropriated clothes, before coming here. "No, everything is fine." She starts, "I just-, well-"

There is realisation in his gaze then and he interrupts, "I imagine Robb has spoken to you then?"

She knows she must sound like the silly girl she no longer is when she asks, "Did you mean it? Truly?"

She can see the hesitation on his face, in the way his eyes flicker towards the floor before they find hers, but his voice is certain when he says, "Yes."

His nervousness has an oddly calming effect on her. It's good to know he is uncertain on how to behave as well. "Why didn't you ask me yourself then? Why send Robb?"

"Because I wanted to give you the chance to refuse me, without making things too awkward between us." She is not sure what she suspected, but this is definitely not it.

"But you have been avoiding me since I've been back," she finally says. He looks honestly surprised then, but his reply comes fast. "Are you sure istn't the other way around?"

She is not, actually. And, he has a point, because even though she thought a lot about him since he went North and she South, especially during her time as Alayne, she hasn't actively sought him out either. He does not wait for her answer and continues. "You were so skittish when Robb first brought you home. I didn't want to make things more difficult for you, so I kept my distance at first. I did not think you'd take it as a sign of me not caring."

"Oh, I don't-, I barely remember my first few weeks back." Everything that happened after Petyr's death, Robb and his men arriving at the Vale, the journey home and her first weeks back, is still a blur to her.

Jon raises his arm and lowers it again, like he wants to touch her but then decides against it. "You had us worried." She notices how he says _us_. Not Robb, or them, _us_. She does not know why this surprises her, after all Alayne had worried about Jon too, but again Jon does not seem to expect an answer out of her. "Robb said you didn't recognize him when he found you."

"No." That's not true. "I did, but Petyr had told me he was dead." Like her mother, slaughtered at her brother's wedding in Robb's place, and her father, betrayed by the ones he trusted. "I thought I had gone mad," she confesses. "But I didn't."

Robb had been real, solid, and not a flicker of her imagination. She had been able to touch him, had felt his heart beat inside his chest as he hugged her. He had told her, while helping her wash the brown dye from her hair, that Jon, whom he had gotten back from the Wall after their mother's death, was not their brother after all. That he was their cousin instead. Lyanna and Rhaegar's son, not father's, and that this had saved them in the end because the new Targaryen Queen, who burns whole cities to the ground, had spared them. Her hair had been as red as his once he had finished.  
She unconsciously touches a strand now, it's wet from the snow, but still red. _Like mothers, but I'm Sansa_ , she tells herself, _not Cat. Or Alayne. Sansa. Sansa has red hair too._

"Lucky." Jon's voice pulls her from her thoughts, even though it's soft, and sounds more like he is speaking to himself than to her.

"What?" She asks confused.

He takes a moment, to collect himself, before he explains. "A Wildling girl once told me red hair means luck." He reaches out again, and touches a strand of her hair delicately pushes it behind her ear. "Kissed by fire, they say."

For a moment she is not sure what to reply. Luck is probably the last thing she associates with her life. But then she smiles at him, because maybe she _is_ lucky. She is still alive, while Joffrey, Cersei and Petyr are all dead. 

"Aren't you freezing?" Jon seems to remember that she is not wearing a cloak, and she realizes that she is shivering as soon as he mentions it. He removes his own from his shoulders, and carefully drapes it around her. His hands brush her neck, they feel rough against her skin, but his touch is gentle. The cloak is too long for her, it touches the snowy ground as they walk back towards the castle, and heavier than her own, but it's a good kind of heavy, it makes her feel grounded.

They walk in comfortable silence, and Sansa can't help thinking that wearing his cloak is not that bad. She tries to imagine herself standing in front of the heart three next to Jon. And as if he feels that her thoughts have returned to his offer he says, "I know we were not that close as children, but Winterfell is our home. Maybe yours more than mine, but in a way it's all that I've ever wanted. Still, being back here would feel wrong if you were not. Knowing that you yearn for it too."

She thinks about the letters waiting for her, none of them can give her this feeling of home, or understand her love and longing for the place she grew up in, and she thinks that maybe she could grow to love Jon too.

 

 

She writes to the Dragon Queen herself, after all Jon is known for his kindness and sense of responsibility and not for his way with words. She tries to find a balance between reason and sincerity, trusts that her words will not fail her. They do not need her blessing, but it would certainly make things easier.

The more she thinks about it, the more sense her decision makes. Jon will be a king of his own someday, or, at least his children will, since Danearys is his age. How better to secure peace between two realms than by making their rulers cousins? She hopes the Queen will feel the same way.

 

 

They don't need her blessing, but it's still a relief when a raven brings it a fortnight later.

 

 

Her second wedding is no more like she imagined a wedding should be like as a child than her first, but is a happier event nevertheless.

She wears a beautiful gown of dove grey samite, that is way too impractical with its long sleeves and tight waist, but truly beautiful. Robb gives her away and Jon drapes a black and red cloak around her shoulders. There is no direwolf on it, but she thinks she does not mind. Dragons are strong and fierce, and she knows that there is more than enough wolf in him too.

Their first kiss is short and sweet, almost innocent. His lips are warm against hers, and she misses them as soon as they are gone.

All in all the feast is a small affair, especially for a future king and a princess, but winter has not ended yet, which keeps most of their stores empty and most of their guest from coming. It does not bother her as much as she thought it would. Perhaps, she thinks, after Tyrion and Joffrey and her mother's fate she has lost her taste for big and pompous weddings.

 

 

Just like at her first wedding she is spared the traditionally bedding ceremony. For this she is utterly grateful. She is nervous enough as it is, and the last thing she desires are drunk men pulling at her gown, undressing her and groping her. She is sill completely dressed when Jon enters their chambers and closes the doors behind him.

She feels his eyes on her, and it makes her nervous, makes her cheeks turn a soft pink. She pours them some wine, partly to have something to do and partly because she hopes that it will calm her nerves.

"You look very lovely." Jon finally says, his eyes darker than normal, when she hands him his glass. His hand brushes against hers when he takes it from her and she immediately feels her stomach fluttering.

"Thanks you." She gives him a soft smile and takes a moment to study her new husband. He looks handsome, there is no denying that, dressed in deep red that brings out his eyes.

She is not sure of what to do next. Should she undress, or wait for him to do it? Or should she say something? He has not removed any of his clothes so far, not even his boots.

She has to think of her first wedding night for a moment. How different but still similar she feels now. She is not scared of Jon, not like she had been of Tyrion, but she is still unsure of what to do. Jon touches her shoulder gently and, still caught in her memory, she flinches away by instinct. She sees the hurt in his eyes, and knows he must think she does not want his touch.

He confirms this a moment later, when he offers, "We don't have to do this tonight," he casts a quick glance towards the bed, "I mean, we can wait, until we know each other better."

It's funny that when Tyrion made her exactly the same offer she felt nothing but relief, but now she feels a hint disappointment instead. She already trusts Jon. Like he said, they may not have been close as children, but she does _know_ him. Knows that he is kind and honourable and that he will not betray her trust. So she says, "No. It's not that. I-, I want to. I  just-, I don't know _how_." She can feel her face turn from light pink to bright red as she speaks. "I mean, I know how," she stammers. "I just, I've never done it before."

"Oh," Jon looks honestly surprised now, and possibly a little relieved as well. "I'm sorry. I just assumed that you and Tyrion had, you know."

"We didn't." She tells him. "I was scared. And, Tyrion was kind to me. In his own way."

"Do you trust me?" His eyes are searching hers, probably for a hint of doubt or uncertainty, but she has already made her choice. She nods, and he closes the space between them. He presses a kiss on top of her head first, then on her brow and left cheek. She turns her head to look up at him and then he is kissing her lips.

Their second kiss is nothing like their first. It's deep and less chased, much more like she imagines a kiss between two lover should be. One of his hands is burried in her hair and the other resting against her waist, and she pulls him closer even, until her breasts are pressed against his chest.

She is not sure how long they stay like this, entangled in each other. Her hands find his leather jerkin and she pushes it off his shoulders. Then unbuttons his shirt, removes it as well. He turns her around then, holds her close and presses kisses to her neck and throat while he unlaces her dress. Her skin tingles where his mouth touches it. She signs when her dress falls to the floor, leaves her in nothing but her smallclothes.

Jon stills behind her then, and she misses his touch immediately. Just as she is about to ask if something is amiss, why he has stopped, she feels his fingers gracing over her back and knows what causes him to pause. There is a web of thin, faded scars spread across her back, tainting her skin.

He traces one of the white lines with his finger, carefully, like the harm is still fresh and not long healed.

"Who did this?" His voice is low and and she is not sure what to tell him. They all have their fair share of scars after all. The arm he currently has around her waist is proof of that.

"It does not matter anymore," she signs. "They're all dead now."

She expects him to keep talking, to maybe even demand names, so she is surprised when she feels his lips replacing his fingers again. He traces the marks on her skin, all the way down her back until he reaches her smallclothes, and pushes them down her legs.

When she had thought about her wedding as a child it had mostly been about the dress she would wear and how beautiful she'd look. She had never spent much time thinking about the bedding itself. And, if she had, it had always been vague and out of focus. 

In reality the bed creaks when Jon lowers her upon it, and the heavy furs tickle her back. For a moment she is extremely aware of everything surrounding them. Her own uneven breathing, his lips on her throat and his hands on her breasts. The way his manhood digs into her hip, not uncomfortable, but still unfamiliar. And then Jon slowly pushes her legs apart and everything else disappears. She feels like there are only the two of them.

He prepares her with his fingers, strokes her until she feels a wetness between her tights and her hip bucks up to meet him, eager for his touch. There is a small rush of pain that makes her gasp when he enters her for the first time, but he keeps himself still until she relaxes under him again. Then the pain turns into pleasure, and there is an unfamiliar heat spreading from between her tights, consuming her whole body from fingertips to toes, making her tremble.  
Jon spends inside her shortly after, then collapses next to her panting. She curls into him, and he presses a fast kiss to her temple.

His voice is still shallow when he asks her if she is fine, if she is alright.

She pulls him closer and nods against his skin. "Better than that."

He falls asleep shortly after, but she stays awake. She traces his features with her fingers, tries to memories them. The shape of his nose and lips, the curve of his brow. It's strange to think that she'll wake up next to him everyday from now on, but it also fills her with real exitement and anticipation, and that is something she has not felt in a very long time.


End file.
